


pardon me (dont let me go)

by Rothecooldad



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, M/M, Panic Attack, Post War, god i havent had to tag hp fic ever what do yall use here, harry gives dracos wand back, self hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-08 19:19:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15936656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rothecooldad/pseuds/Rothecooldad
Summary: Draco had no desire to step foot on that island that he had only narrowly escaped himself, nor to see what could have been so easily his fate reflected back to him in the dull eyes of his father, a vision of what could have been,should have been, his future.And that was it, wasn’t it?That Draco knew he deserved to rot, too. That this forgiveness should never have been granted, that he should never be able to walk away when so many others hadn’t had the chance.





	pardon me (dont let me go)

**Author's Note:**

> _Anonymous said:  
>  oooooooh if you're in a Drarry mood, how about a drabble of Harry giving Draco back his wand? I love that shit _
> 
> Goes without saying, but I don't own Harry Potter. Although, at this point, the case could be made that the universe truly belongs more to the fans than jkr

_ Pardoned. _

 

Draco could hardly think the word, wouldn’t let himself dare hope for such an outcome. And yet…

 

And yet. 

 

That’s exactly what they had decided, had they not? To the shock of most at the hearing -- none the least of which being Draco himself, already set to march to his own funeral pyre -- The Wizengamot had made their final thoughts on the subject.

 

_ Pardoned. _

 

Not without punishment, they had stated, of course. The law was the law was the law, and despite what the final verdict might have been, they had been less than innocent on the charges they were tried for. So the vaults were all but gutted, and his mother was sentenced to a year of house arrest. She would survive, Draco knew. His parents were clever, always made sure there were plenty of funds set aside, away from the banks and any nosey officials who might have come along to investigate. And Narcissa Malfoy was many things, none the least of which being strong and empowered and intelligent, but above all, she was resourceful. Draco wouldn’t need to worry for her, though he knew he would regardless.

 

And Draco...

 

He was  _ free _ . A few months of community service, sure, but that was nothing more than a slap on the wrist for the things he had done. The inherent freedom of it, of knowing he would walk away from this with nought but a scratch at best, it rang in his ears and made his blood burn like ice in his veins. 

 

His father hadn’t been as lucky, though no one was surprised by that. His crimes far outweighed any committed by either his wife or his son, and he made it clear he refused to be repentant. Draco couldn’t find it in himself to even muster up a passing piteous glance for the man that had brought him into this world -- this world of war and horror and blood that  _ he  _ had been advocating for, had raised him to embrace.

 

Draco knew he should be standing with his parents, not crying -- he was a Malfoy, and even now, perhaps,  _ especially now, _ there was a certain sort of dignity he wouldn’t allow himself to surrender. But not emotionless either, he supposes, watching as his carefully composed mother’s eyes still shone, the way her back was taut and stiff as she brushed the hair away from her husband’s face. Draco saw it for what it was, a final act of intimacy. A last farewell to the man she had loved.

 

They wouldn’t be visiting. 

 

He may remain alive, but his mother would mourn him, Draco knew. It would be too difficult for her, visiting a ghost in the place where no happiness could remain. He only hoped his father’s memory wouldn’t haunt her still.

 

Draco had no desire to step foot on that island that he had only narrowly escaped himself, nor to see what could have been so easily his fate reflected back to him in the dull eyes of his father, a vision of what could have been,  _ should have been _ , his future.

 

And that was it, wasn’t it? 

 

That Draco knew he deserved to rot, too. That this forgiveness should never have been granted, that he should never be able to walk away when so many others hadn’t had the chance.

 

His left arm fell heavy at his side with a practiced ease, concealing his shame from the public eye, at least. It didn’t stop the onslaught of memories, the dull throbbing from his forearm that he knew was only there because of his over-awareness of the mark,  _ his  _ mark, the brand that was more proof of his guilt than anything else could possibly be.

 

He was  _ pardoned. _

 

_ He  _ was pardoned.

 

He could laugh. He could cry.

 

He could do neither, his throat tight,  _ too tight.  _ He couldn’t swallow, couldn’t  _ breathe.  _ The room was bright and loud and crowded and he had to  _ get out get out get out. _

 

He fled. A cowards run from his family, his past, the implications of his future. It was just  _ too much. _

 

Hands out, he felt his way along a wall until his legs gave out, and he slumped down, his head between his knees. That was supposed to help, supposed to let the air back into his body, and let him breathe again.

 

_ Why wasn’t it working? _

 

Draco could barely remember  _ who _ he was, didn’t know  _ where  _ he was, didn’t  _ care. _

 

“Malfoy?” Came a voice near him, though Draco couldn't be sure it was real. 

 

It wasn't real, he decided a moment later. It  _ couldn't  _ be. 

 

“Hey, Malfoy?” was the voice again, and he looked up this time, already knowing who it was. Who it  _ wasn't. _ Who it  _ couldn't be.  _

 

Not even in his most crazed fantasies, borne of desperation and fear, at a time where fantasies were all he had, would he allow himself to believe that Harry Potter could be standing in front of him, arm outstretched and frowning in concern.

 

Not this man that Draco owed so much to,  _ too much to. Everything  _ to. His life, his mother,  _ his freedom.  _ The one whose life he had made hell time and time again, and still turned around and spoke on his behalf, because he was always this  _ noble  _ kid, this paradigm of  _ good and light _ that Draco didn't  _ deserve  _ to be helped by. 

 

Not even the flashes of another offered hand, rejected a lifetime ago, could convince Draco to take the hand offered to him now. Not after everything.

 

He looked down.

 

That didn’t stop Potter, however. The hallucination, because he  _ had to be a hallucination,  _ crouched down in front of him, reaching out and lifted his chin with his, what a small part of Draco acknowledged were very real and  _ solid,  _ hands.

 

“Look at me.” Potter commanded, his voice distant and faded. “C’mon, right into m’eyes. Good, good, let’s focus, alright? Deep breaths. With me now.” And Draco was helpless to do anything but comply, taking a breath when Potter did, exhaling with Potter. “1..2...3.. 1..2...3…There we go, in and out.” He could feel Potter’s breath on his face, and it grounded him in a way, forcing him to focus on that sensation as his lungs slowly filled with air.

 

After a moment of steady breathing in tandem, Potter looked satisfied enough, leaning back on his heels. He gave Draco a shaky smile.

 

“You okay now, Malfoy?”

 

He wasn’t. Doubted he ever would be. But he was aware of his surrounding now and wasn’t hyperventilating anymore, so he swallowed thickly, throat and mouth dry, and nodded.

 

“That’s good.” Potter told him, an actual smile on his face this time, that, in another life, would have made Draco feel warm all over. Now he was just tired and  _ cold. _

 

Draco still said nothing, wasn’t sure if he could, but again, that seemed hardly a deterrent for Potter. He didn’t wait this time, grabbing Draco’s hand in his and hoisted him up off the ground with little more than a grunt to indicate he  _ had  _ put  _ some  _ effort in. 

 

Reaching in to his back pocket, Potter pulled out a wand and held it out to Draco. Draco stared blankly down at it, comprehension alluding him. 

 

It was his wand, another thing he assumed he’d never see again. He should feel relief at least for whatever Potter might be doing, but he was just numb.

 

“It’s yours.” Potter stated, rather obviously. He thrust it toward Draco again. “I wanted you to have it back.”

 

Another blank look.

 

Potter frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. He grabbed Draco’s hand once more, pressing the wand firmly to Draco’s palm. His fingers gripped it of their own accord.

 

His magic sung, vibrating below his skin, and the warmth it created in him chased away some of the numbness. It felt so  _ right _ in his hand again, the familiar wood smooth against his skin, comforting to him in a way he didn’t know it could be.

 

But it was  _ wrong.  _ He shouldn’t have this, didn’t deserve it back. Not this small piece of normalcy he’d left behind.

“Why?” He tried and failed twice before he managed to ask. It was the first thing he’d said in days, and his voice rang out rough and hollow.

 

Potter frowned again, but stepped closer, his hand still wrapped around Draco’s.

 

“Because,” He said, his eyes wide and earnest. “It belongs to you.”

 

Any fight Draco might have had in him before was long gone. He sighed, closing his eyes.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“No need.” 

 

He felt more than heard Potter’s goodbye, Potter’s hands letting his go. Something reared up in Draco then, something he had thought died with the war. There was more to say, and he was struck with the absolute  _ need  _ to say it, now, before it was suddenly too late and he’d let this opportunity pass.

 

“Wait,” And it was Draco grabbing Potter’s hand now, not letting him leave. “Potter.” Just that was a struggle to get out, but he pushed on, looking at Potter’s confused expression. “ Just -- Thank you. For everything.”

 

Potter turned to him completely, shock reading plainly on his face. He opened his mouth, but shut it quickly again. He nodded.

 

“I meant what I said back there, y’know.” Draco didn’t even try to play dumb at that, of course he knew what Potter said. He didn’t agree, but he tilted his head anyway, accepting the statement for the olive branch it was.

 

“We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. None of us.” It was suddenly important that Potter understood this. Draco owed him  _ everything.  _

 

“Malfoy-” Potter started. “ _ Draco. _ ” The use of his first name startled Draco into truly  _ listening _ , something he was sure that Potter was well aware of and gladly used to his advantage. “I’m serious. Fuck your father,” Draco didn’t even flinch at that, no knee jerk reaction to defend the man that raised him like there would have been years ago. It was a sentiment Draco found he shared. “But you and your mum saved my life.”

 

“No,” Draco argued, shaking his head. “Anything we might have done to help was never for you, Potter. We were selfish and we were wrong, and for that I’m truly sorry.”

 

“Listen,” There was a fire burning in Potter’s eyes now. “We were all thrust into a shitty war that most of us never wanted to be a part of. Sure, different sides, but we can hardly be blamed for that. We were  _ children.  _ We  _ are  _ children. We  _ both, _ ” he stressed the word. “ _ Both  _ made mistakes. Merlin knows I did shit that I’m not proud of and even more shit I wish I did differently just to prevent this damn guilt from eating away at me.” He paused, searching Draco’s face. “Yeah, you fucked up, Draco. But I was always taught that it’s your choices that make you who you are. In the end, your choices added up. You did good, Draco. And you deserve a second chance.” Potter said this with more conviction in his voice than Draco had ever felt in his lifetime.

 

There was a pause as Draco tried to put his thoughts into words.  _ How could Potter still manage to see the good in people? _ Draco wondered.  _ How could he see the good in  _ him?

 

But in the end, Draco only said, “Thank you.”

 

“I told you,” Potter grinned, and Draco could see how worn and tired it was, despite the sincerity of it. Absentmindedly, he thought that he would have no trouble believing that this man could win an impossible war. “There’s no need.”

 

Draco smiled back before he was even aware he’d been doing it. 

 

“Do you think, maybe,” Draco swallowed hard. “We could talk again?” And why did this simple request feel like the hardest thing he’d done?

 

“I think I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> drabble,, , right,,, ,
> 
> god i havent written hp fic in like 4 years so go easy on me please   
>  how am i here again 
> 
> not a hp blog, but hey come hmu over @ [ tumblr ](https://jeremwood.tumblr.com)


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